Honeymooning With The Consulting Detective
by GeniaTheParadox
Summary: Basically plotless smut. The Holmes-Watson newlyweds are on their honeymoon. John wants to go sight-seeing. Sherlock would much rather do something that doesn't involve clothes or leaving their hotel room.


I'm still having epic writer's block with my Reichenbach fic, so here's some smut to make it better.

I suppose you could link this fic to my other 'Johnlock as a married couple' type fics but they're not really the same. Whatever. This is just filth. Honeymoon filth. There's barely even a plot, just sexy times.

Anyway, chuck some reviews in my general direction.

And I don't own Sherlock Holmes or John Watson, I've just made them get married and have lots of sex because that's how my imagination works.

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**Honeymooning With The Consulting Detective**

John stepped out of the en suite with a towel wrapped around his hips, using a smaller towel to dry his hair, and smiled at the sight that met him in the bedroom. On the plush king sized bed lay John's beautiful new husband, sprawled across the entire mattress with the sheets tangled around his pale, slender body and John's old army dog tags gleaming silver around his elegant neck, looking so effortlessly graceful even in sleep. The dark curls were messy and bed-rumpled, framing his perfectly unearthly face, his sweet cupid's bow lips at odds with the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw, looking for all the world like an ornately chiselled statue that just happened to be breathing. John felt as if he was falling in love all over again.

And then Sherlock stirred and opened his eyes. In the morning light it was impossible to tell what colour those eyes were, unless 'beautiful' counted as a colour.

"John," Sherlock croaked, pushing his hair out of his face. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Good morning to you too," John smirked. "I was just taking a shower."

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows and frowned. "Without me?"

"You were sleeping," John said with a shrug. "It's such a rarity that I didn't want to ruin it, and you needed the rest anyway."

"You know how much I enjoy shared showers and all the sexual opportunities they offer," Sherlock said, pouting slightly. "You should have woken me up."

John finished drying his hair and hung the towel on the back of the nearest chair, unable to wipe the smile off of his face.

"You look beautiful when you're asleep, love."

"Don't try and butter me up with compliments, John."

"Also I was savouring the few blissful moments of silence."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Hilarious. Now take that wretched towel off and come back to bed. A towel around your waist counts as clothes and I don't want you wearing clothes at all until we go back to England, at which point we can be married and naked in our flat rather than married and naked in this lavish hotel room."

"Yeah, as tempting as that sounds," said John. "I was sort of hoping we could go out today, maybe do a bit of sight-seeing."

Sherlock looked at John as if he was speaking another language. "Sight-seeing?"

"Yes," John chuckled, looking in the drawers for some underwear. "Come on, Sherlock, we're in _Venice_. It would be a waste to spend the entire week cooped up in this hotel room. We have to go outside at least once."

"No, we don't," Sherlock said dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous, John. If I had my way, we wouldn't have bothered coming all the way here. We could have honeymooned at home."

"And if you had your way, we wouldn't have even had a proper wedding reception," said John. "We would've just snuck off to the registry office and told everyone we know about our marriage via a big group text."

"Well, that reception was completely pointless," said Sherlock, his frown becoming more pronounced at the memory. "It was just Mycroft sticking his nose in as usual, making an event of everything..."

"It was our _wedding_, Sherlock," John groaned.

"And," Sherlock continued as if there was no interruption. "Since he insisted on sending us on this damn holiday, I think we owe it ourselves to stay in this room, order as much room service as possible since we're not paying for any of it, and have lots and lots of sex so I can block out the fact that it was my interfering brother who sent us here in the first place."

John sighed, giving up on looking for clothes. "There's no point in me arguing, is there?"

"Nope," Sherlock said with a grin.

"You're not going to get dressed for this whole week, are you?"

"Nope."

"And I'm not going to be allowed to get dressed either?"

"Not at all. Are you done with the obvious questions now, John? Because this bed is extremely empty without you."

John smiled at his husband. It was amazing that he could be so annoying and yet so impossible to say no to. Slipping off his towel, John climbed back into bed, Sherlock kicking the bed sheets away so he could gather his husband in his arms.

"So, Dr. Holmes-Watson," said Sherlock, burying his nose in John's still slightly damp hair. "Now that I've convinced you to stay in bed with me, what would you like to do? I packed the riding crop."

John chuckled into Sherlock's neck. "It's a little early in the morning for the riding crop, love."

Sherlock rolled them over so quickly John barely registered it, and he let out a rather undignified giggle as Sherlock straddled his hips and pinned him to the bed.

"Okay fine, no riding crop," Sherlock said in a low, sensual rumble. "You're just going to have to use your hands on me while I ride you nice and hard."

John moaned, resting his hands on Sherlock's thighs as his slender husband rocked his hips on top of him, rubbing their steadily hardening cocks together.

"It's been hours since you were inside me, John," Sherlock whispered right in John's ear. "But it feels even longer. I want to ride you until you can't see straight, Dr. Holmes-Watson. I want you to fuck me so hard I'll still be feeling you on the plane ride back to London, and I want enough marks on my skin that people won't have to just look at my wedding ring and your dog tags to know that I belong to _you_."

John's grip on Sherlock's thigh tightened and he was already fully hard just from the sound of his husband's sexy baritone voice.

"All of that can be arranged, my love," John whispered, before he tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pulled him into a hard, fierce kiss.

Sherlock groaned deeply as he allowed John to take control and plunder his mouth ruthlessly. He rocked his hips back and forth, grinding down onto John until both their stomachs were wet and sticky with pre-come. John reached blindly over to the bedside table, finally grabbing the half empty bottle of lube from the night before without their kiss ever breaking.

John sat up, taking Sherlock with him so the consulting detective was sitting on his lap, and moved his lips down Sherlock's jaw and neck, sucking possessive red marks on his skin. Sherlock reached between them and took both their erections in his hand, his fingers rough with calluses caused by his experiments, and stroked them slowing until they were both breathless and rutting against each other. John uncapped the bottle of lube and poured some rather clumsily onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm them up, and reached around Sherlock. His slick fingers delved between Sherlock's arse cheeks, probing his puckered hole and smearing the sensitive area with lube, while a moaning Sherlock stroked both their aching cocks a little bit fast, rocking back onto John's hand.

John latched his mouth onto Sherlock's neck as he pushed two wet fingers into his husband's hole, biting and sucking the ghostly pale skin as his fingers worked Sherlock open roughly, thrusting and scissoring. He added a third finger, pushing them in and out and curling them just right to hit Sherlock's prostate until the detective was groaning loudly and bucking against him.

"I'm ready," he gasped. "Come on, John, _fuck me_."

John removed his fingers, using the excess lube to slick up cock, which was already dripping wet with pre-come. John lay back on the mattress, holding tightly onto Sherlock's hips as his husband lowered himself down, impaling himself on John's cock until he as completely sheathed. Both men groaned as Sherlock braced himself on John's broad chest, getting used to the intrusion before they finally started to move.

There was no slow start. Sherlock really couldn't be bothered to be gentle. He held onto the headboard with both hands, slamming himself down onto John's cock until the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed around the room. John held onto Sherlock's hips so tightly that he was sure to leave hand-shaped bruises that Sherlock would be extremely proud of later, as he thrust upwards faster and faster.

"Ohh, yes," Sherlock moaned, loud enough for the entire hotel hear. "Yes, John... yes! Fuck me! Make it hurt, John, and don't you dare fucking stop!"

John raised his hand and brought it down hard on Sherlock's arse cheek with a resounding_ smack, _making Sherlock cry out even louder and ride John with even more force. The bed creaked and shook underneath the newlyweds. Sherlock's knuckles were red and sore as they hit the wall along with the headboard, but he didn't care – it just made everything feel even better. John smacked his husband's arse again and again, each hit harder than the last, before he very suddenly flipped them over so Sherlock was on his back.

The display of strength just turned Sherlock even more. John hooked one of Sherlock's long legs over his good shoulder, bending Sherlock almost in half as he pounded into his husband hard and fast, each thrust hitting his prostate dead on. He sank his teeth into as much of Sherlock's skin as he could reach, covering him in bright red love bites that he knew the consulting detective would make an effort to show off to absolutely everyone. Sherlock reached between them to tug on his own cock, but John slapped his hand away and wrapped his own large hand around Sherlock's dripping wet length, stroking fast in time with his hard, merciless thrusts.

Sherlock was an incoherent mess, something only his husband could ever do to him. He clawed hopelessly at John's back, leaving scratch marks on his skin, as he desperately bucked his hips, so close to the edge that it felt as if his blood was boiling. His usually chaotic brain had turned to mush. All that was going through his mind was John; John's thick, beautiful cock pounding into him hard, hitting his prostate just right, John's hand tugging fast on his pre-come slickened length, John's wonderful mouth sucking all those possessive marks all over his neck and collarbone and shoulders, John, John, _oh God, John, don't ever stop..._

With an ear-splitting cry of John's, Sherlock's orgasm hit, it hit him so hard it almost knocked him out, so hard he was sure his heartbeat must have stopped even though it shouldn't have been physiologically possible. As he shook from the aftershocks of his climax, John came with a deep animalistic growl, slamming erratically into Sherlock until he was too spent to hold himself up.

They collapsed on the bed, side by side and completely breathless. Sherlock's whole body ached in a way that was too glorious for words. He could feel John's come oozing out of his sore, used hole, making him feel fantastically used. The mess of his own come was already drying uncomfortably on his skin but he was far too exhausted and satisfied to clean up yet.

John looked over at his new husband and couldn't help but smile fondly. Sherlock somehow looked even more beautiful like this than he had earlier that morning. His dark curls were even more of a tousled mess. His angular face was flushed, sweat dripping down his forehead and his cupid's bow lips even fuller, pink and swollen from fierce kisses. His pale, graceful neck and sharp collar were dotted with large red love bites which the chain of the silver dog tags rested on top of. On his slender hips the beginnings of hand-shaped bruises were starting to bloom. Sherlock Holmes-Watson looked used and debauched and nothing less than _beautiful_.

"Told you so," Sherlock said with smirk once his breathing was back to normal.

"What?" John asked, taking a little bit longer to recover.

"Told you this would be better than going outside," Sherlock said with a smug chuckle.

John shook his head, smiling even wider. "Well, I guess I can't argue with that, love."

"No, you can't. _Outside..._" Sherlock scoffed. "Honestly, John. That's no way to spend ones honeymoon."

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Hope you enjoyed, Humble Readers.

xxx


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